The Only Thing That Matters
by Sephraem
Summary: Freyja Strong-Heart and Galmar Stone-Fist always stood by Ulfric's side, whether it was training as children, fighting side by side in the Great War, even fighting against their former shield-brothers in the Civil War. But what happens when Freyja no longer feels needed, now that the Breton Dragonborn is in the picture? And how exactly will the Stormcloak fix it? Rated M in case!
1. Chapter 1

She supposed it was always going to end this way.

 _It was inevitable_ , Freyja thought as her metallic eyes slowly move across the bustling hall from where she stood off to the side, _having spent so much of my time growing up with him_. They trained together, went off to war against the Thalmor together, tended to the other's wounds- she wouldn't let anyone else patch him back together, trust issues and all that- and managed to survive together. Somewhere among all the chaos of the Great War, a seed was planted that changed everything about how she felt.

 _Ulfric._

Then came their fighting at Markarth and defending it from the Forsworn, his getting arrested and being held captive by the Thalmor- he still refused to talk about it, not that she blamed him for keeping silent. Her friend having to smuggle out a eulogy for his father who died during his incarceration. Her and a handful of men breaking him out of prison. His taking on the mantle of Jarl by the will of his people, her watching him challenge Torygg in the old ways and their escape from Solitude, and the eventual capture at Darkwater Crossing.

Throughout all this Freyja stood by her friend's side, unwavering in her loyalty to him. She was his sword and shield, his strength and his conscience, lifting him up when spirits fell and grounding his anger when it blossomed...as often it did in such times.

Then _she_ came. The godsdamned Dragonborn. Never before had the blonde Nord felt so much jealousy towards anyone or anything as she did when the small Breton, dressed in pristine mage robes, entered the Palace of the Kings, taking praise for every victory accomplished and all others ignored. It was then Freyja realized that, with the way Ulfric looked at Gisele, that she would never amount to more than being a friend to him. It certainly didn't help matters that, not only was the mage something out of Legends, but she was also gorgeous, flawless even. Not like her, with her body mottled with scars and burns. At one point they were an honor, a tribute to the fact that she survived fighting for what she believed. But who seriously would want to hold someone that looked as she did?

Now the Age of Oppression was done, the Imperial Legions routed, and it was time to enjoy what little peace Skyrim could have before the Thalmor moved against her soon-to-be-crowned High King. How many of their old friends that stayed loyal to the Legion died at her hands? At Galmar's? At Ulfric's? She wondered how he was handling having to kill Rikke- she, like Freyja, were cut from the same cloth, stubborn Nords and unwilling to compromise in what they believed in. He never said anything and she never asked, knowing that, like every other time, he'd come and discuss it when ready.

"Why aren't you out there with the rest of them?"

The Nord woman didn't need to turn around to know who was behind her. "We've won the battle Galmar, but not the war. The Aldmeri Dominion won't stop until Ulfric is dead and Skyrim bends her knee to their will. It feels foolish to celebrate at this point. Not when we need to rebuild, to remember those lost."

Her General moves to her side, his own glacial orbs watching the merriment around the long tables. "True enough, but it's more than that, isn't it?" Galmar chuckles when Frejya's head snaps around, looking at him like she was a child who got caught eating a sweetroll before dinner. "Come on now. You seriously think I wouldn't know? You, Ulfric and I grew up together, Freyja. You're quite the open book to those that know how to read you."

"You might, but he obviously doesn't know how to… not anymore. Not when he's got her by his side. She'll make a damn fine Queen when the time comes- the fact she can use the Voice alone will keep the more belligerent people in line."

"You could just tell him."

The woman snorts softly, shaking her head in the negative. "No, the time for that is past. I'm tired, my friend. Tired, scarred and broken. All I know is fighting, war and death. What good am I in a world with peace, temporary as it might be?"

"We still need you Freyja. Ulfric still needs you," Galmar points out, then gestures out at the soldiers eating in the main room. "Who else is going to help me keep these children of Skyrim ready for what's coming but the best Commander I have?"

"Ysarald. Hjornskar. Kottir if he's not busy dealing with the Forsworn out in the Reach. Even Ralof could do a good job with the newer recruits- Talos knows the lad will get bored soon enough. No, my General, I'm going to take this supposed time of peace to heal and work on a project."

"Can't you do that here?"

"I don't have all the materials I need here. No one in Skyrim sells it, so I will have to travel some distance to acquire what I need. The sooner I start, the sooner it can be finished."

The slightly older man's brows furrow in thought. "Surely you'll stay, at least 'til the end of the feast tonight." When Freyja doesn't respond, Galmar wraps a hand around his subordinate's bicep, causing her to start.

"No... I think I'll leave now, the sooner the better. I'm not needed here," the woman tells him. "Look, Galmar. Look at our Jarl. He's laughing and smiling- when was the last time we saw him do that? He's _happy_...and that's the only thing that matters."

"When was the last time any of us had a reason to do so, Lass?"

The pair watch as Ulfric wraps an arm around Gisele's shoulders, the Breton leaning over to whisper something in his ear.

"She'll be a much better protector for him than I ever was," the slighter officer murmurs as she looks on, barely audible over the sounds of conversation and somewhat drunken revelry. "Make sure you send me word when the coronation's going to happen, Galmar. Gods know I spilled enough of my own blood for the cause to get to see history happen. It's not every day one can say they were once the childhood friend of the newly crowned High King..." Before the General could say anything, the Commander bends down and picks up the bag at her feet. "I have but one last favor to ask of you, Galmar... I ask this of you as an old friend, and not my superior."

"If I can do it I will, you know this Freyja. Never could say no to you in the many years we've known each other."

She gives him a slight smile. "I only ask that you say nothing of my leaving. Chances are my absence will not be missed til late tomorrow morning, if luck is in my favor."

"I won't lie to him for you, woman. If he asks where you are, I'll have to tell him something."

'Can't answer what you don't know, my friend. Just...just tell Ulfric I'll come back in time to see his greatest achievement. After that...well, we'll see."

* * *

A/N: Oh no! Not another one! She's at it again!

Yeah, this hit me as I was trying to get another chapter of Oblivion Hath No Fury, plus trying to figure out the side story for Dragonborn and the Sneak. With the way my brain throws ideas out at me, I'll never finish anything lengthy. I will do the best I can to not get distracted with the ooh shiny syndrome too much, I promise!


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you sure I can't convince you to leave in the morning? Dragonborn or not, the night is no time for a woman to travel alone."

A brunette head shakes in the negative as Gisele picks her sack up from the bench beside her. "I'm afraid not, Jarl Ulfric. I've been long from my Guild, and I have to make sure that it and the members are still in one piece and not twiddling their thumbs in a jail cell somewhere. Besides, I took up enough of your time as it is and I've got someone waiting for me at home." Concerned topazes look around the still crowded hall as a frown breaks out on the mage's face. "Hmm, I know Commander Strong-Heart was here earlier- I wanted to extend her an invitation to the woods of the Rift as well as the plains of Whiterun. Plenty of places for good hunting, and I'm not just talking about animals."

Before Ulfric could ask what the Breton was going on about, she had turned and gestured his Housecarl over, who was seemingly in an animated discussion with Ysarald and a few of the other soldiers.

"Heading home Dragonborn?"

"Don't sound so happy to see me go, General."

"My ears will be happier than the rest of me, believe me," Galmar goes, tugging at one of his earlobes. "Now, what did you and Ulfric need, hmm?"

"I was wondering where Commander Strong-Heart went to, as I saw the two of you speaking earlier. Wanted to extend her an invitation for some sport down in the Rift and Whiterun- plenty of things for her to try her skill on if they catch her interest."

A thick brow raises at the comment as the Second in Command goes "Sport in regards to things of the four legged variety? Or are you also including those that walk on two in that offer as well?"

"Excuse me?" Jade eyes, that once were looking around the room for the officer in question, snap back into focus and on the two standing next to him.

"Come now, Jarl Ulfric. Commander Strong-Heart is only a few years younger than you. Most women in Skyrim would have been married and had at least one child, maybe two by now- personally I think it odd, but I'll blame that on my being born in High Rock. From what I can gather from some of the other soldiers, all she's known is war, whether it's fighting against the elves or fighting against those she once called brother. I know a set of Nord twins in Jorrvaskr who would gladly call her wife just based on the scars she carries alone, and I'm sure there would be at least one member of my own Guild that would not mind keeping her warm on a long winter's night. I overheard her one night cursing those scars, calling them a burden she wasn't sure she was willing to bear anymore, but... I envy her for those, you know?"

"Why is that?"

"General, this is Skyrim, where your mettle is shown either by how many meads you can drink in one go or by the stories you can tell of battles you fought in, not by the number of summons you can conjure or your ability to cast spells under duress. I'm a mage by training- we're never on the front lines ever if possible. Prior to my joining up to help Jarl Ulfric, I was just a newcomer to these lands trying to make her way as a thief. I have less than ten scars to my name. What tales will I have to tell when I have my own children? Granted, I defeated the World Eater in Sovngarde, but what do I have to show for it?" The Dragonborn gives her superiors a small smile. "No Sir, the Commander is the lucky one, for she will have much to talk about with those who went before her in the Hall of Valor. And with that, Riften and her denizens await me. Jarl Ulfric, I wish you luck in dealing with the Moot, whenever it convenes. General Stone-Fist, let the Commander know of my intentions to have her down in my area of Skyrim as soon as he's willing to let her go."

As the two men watch the mage head towards the doors and out into the cold Windhelm night, verdant orbs narrow as Ulfric ponders what Gisele had said. "Galmar."

"My Lord."

"Where is she?"

 _Damn you Freyja for putting me in this situation_. The Housecarl pinches the bridge of his nose and goes "Walk with me, Ulfric." Thankfully, whether it was from curiosity or anger- _Or perhaps a combination of the two_ , the man thinks to himself- his friend nods and the pair move in silence down the Valunstrad and into the Temple of Talos, which was thankfully empty at this time of night.

Cerulean eyes look up at the statue of the man who not only changed Skyrim, but all of Tamriel, silently asking for guidance as he proceeded to verbally beat sense into his friend. "She left, Ulfric."

"What?" Disheveled locks move haphazardly as the Jarl shakes his head. "I must have heard you wrong. Did you say Freyja _left_? Left the Palace? Left Windhelm? Left Eastmarch?"

"I don't know. I think she aimed to leave Skyrim for a period of time, but that she would be back in time for your coronation."

"You're joking, right?"

"Am I laughing? Even yet, would I joke about something like that when she was concerned?" Now the man laughs, the barking like sound echoing around the moonlit room. "I think for you to ask that comment you must have had a bit too much mead in celebration tonight, my Lord."

"Did Freyja say at _why_ she was leaving?"

The General sighs, taking a seat on the front pew. "Unrequited love," he goes simply to his friend, hoping that Ulfric would make the connection in his mead addled brain.

"I...see," the Jarl goes, sitting down next to Galmar, a pensive expression crossing his face. "That's surprising, I mean, that someone wouldn't want her. Why does she think her feelings aren't returned? Who hurt her this way, to make her feel that she had to flee her own home?"

Before he could stop himself, Stone-Fist's left arm was up and moving, his bare palm smacking his Lord on the back of the head rather hard. _On second thought..._ For good measure, he slaps him again. "No, you're not drunk. You really _are_ an idiot. How in the name of bloody Oblivion are you going to be High King of Skyrim and tend to the needs of her residents if you can't see what is going on right in front of you?" Shaking his hand out to regain the feeling back in it, the officer growls out " _You're_ the one who hurt her Ulfric. _You're_ the reason Freyja felt she had to leave."

As Ulfric rubs the back of his head, his brain catches up and processes what his clearly angry friend just said. "Freyja...why didn't she say anything?"

"Didn't you say once 'Men who understand each other often have no need for words'? She said plenty over the years without saying it- you just didn't hear it...or chose not to. Tell me, Ulfric, how many women, let alone people, would go into battle with you, refuse to let anyone else heal you, shielded your body with theirs, break you out of a Thalmor Prison and knowingly commit supposed treason against the Empire, knowing it could lead to their death? At every crossroad, at every low point, at every hurdle Freyja was there. Do you seriously think you would have survived if she wasn't there? Can you look me in the eye and tell me that if it was reported she fell in battle you would take it the same way you'd take anyone else's?"

"What changed?"

"Your infatuation with your pet dragon in mage robes," the Housecarl tells his Jarl bluntly. "It was like no one else mattered. You know how she feels about her scars- the fact that Gisele is decent looking by Nord standards didn't make matters any easier for her. Add on the fact that the Breton is the Dragonborn and with that goes the ability to use the Voice, you'd be unstoppable if she were by your side." Here Galmar shrugs, as if everything was self-explanatory. "Freyja feels that come your coronation as High King there will be a wedding to go along with it, and it won't be to her. But she thought you wanted the Last Dragonborn, and if that made you happy, she was more than willing to put what she wanted aside."

"How could it _not_ be? There's only ever been her!" Sage eyes, which were originally looking down at the stone floor, dart upwards in a panic. "There's no one more worthy than Freyja. I can't lose her Galmar, not after all this, not after we've all been through."

"You and I both know that. Everyone who fought for your cause knows that. But she doesn't believe so, and that's the only thing that matters. The question now is what you plan on doing about it, idiot?"

The Stormcloak leader said nothing for a few minutes, his mind putting together and discarding various plans just as quickly. "If I knew you would allow it, I would scour all of Skyrim and then Tamriel for her. We also can't have the soldiers helping rebuild and protecting the Holds stop what they're doing to look for her either- she knows most of them and could easily out-think and outmaneuver them. I certainly can't send you, because she'll expect that. What we need is..."

A strange light briefly appears in the Jarl's eyes, though Galmar can only wonder if he imagined it in the torch-lit temple. "Need what, Ulfric? Start makin' some sense, won't you?"

"I need you to find me someone trusted to bring a message for me south. I don't want it going through the usual channels of couriers- and I _don't_ want them in a uniform. Talos knows some of the Legion's staunchest men have organized themselves and are operating out of hidden camps in the wilderness. Last we need is to lose a good man on what might be a fool's errand. As for me, I have to get back to the Palace- I've got a letter to write."

* * *

A/N: Here we are, another chapter. For some reason, I feel that the relationship between Galmar and Ulfric is strong enough that Ulfric will accept not only being called an idiot to his face by his Housecarl, but also being Gibbs Slapped. More than once.

And I _finally_ write a story where the Dragonborn is not my main focus. Gisele will play a part in the madness, as will her motley crew of thieves, will have a part to play, a rather strange one, but I hope it makes sense.

Onward and upward! To Skyrim and the North!


	3. Chapter 3

A loud knocking late the next morning broke the relative peace and quiet for the two people sleeping in the small home in Riften.

"Who in Oblivion is knocking at your door now, Gisele? You only just got back last night- couldn't they wait 'til you settled in?"

"I'm the Jarl's Thane, love, plus the Dragonborn and Guild Master. Someone's always going to want a piece of me, just know that in the end I'll always come home to you," the mage goes as she slips out from underneath the thin blanket that covered the bed. Picking up her shirt from the night before and slipping it on, Gisele pads barefoot over to the front door saying "I'll try to deal with this as quickly as possible. Nocturnal knows I could use a little more sleep."

"You could just ignore the knocking and come back to bed now," the voice goes, teasing her like a siren's call and the brunette could only groan.

"Five minutes." Unlocking the door and cracking it open- because what thief in their right mind would pick the lock of the Guild Master's home- sleep laden amber orbs peer outside, blinking in confusion at who she saw on the other side. "Ralof? What are you doing here? Did something happen already that has Ulfric needing me?"

Broad shoulders covered in tan linen shrug as the blonde holds out a sealed message to his shield-sister. "I'm not sure. I was only told to bring this to you as soon as dawn crept over the horizon and to wait for an answer. Whatever it is though, it had both the Jarl and the General concerned."

"And here they were hoping for a slight reprieve before the Thalmor started moving..." As Gisele takes the offered letter, she pulls the door back further and steps back. "Get inside my friend, you look pretty done in. Have you eaten since leaving the palace?"

"Couldn't risk stopping, not when there's still unaccounted for Legionnaires out there," the man goes as he steps into the main room. "Wouldn't turn down a bottle of mead though if you have one, though."

As the small woman chuckles softly, an exasperated voice floats in from the sleeping area "Five minutes my ass, Gisele. Tell the bloody fig you'll talk to him later!"

"And what a beautiful ass it is, Love. I'll get reacquainted with it shortly." Ralof's cheeks color slightly, realizing what he walked into and stammering his apologies, to which the mage brushes off by handing him a bottle of the requested drink. "Sit down and let me see what the Jarl wants, hmm?"

 **Dragonborn,**

 **I know you only left Eastmarch last night, but it seems I have need of some of your particular talents once more, and, dare I say, those of your Guild's. I never thought I would see the day when I would call upon the ragtag bunch you call a Guild for help, but, by Talos, I need all the help I can get.**

Gisele stares at the statement, a blank expression on her face though her mind was whirling with questions. _What could Ulfric have need of the Guild for? He'll be named High King of Skyrim soon enough, anything he could want he wouldn't have to steal with that power..._

 **No, I do not need something stolen...far from it in fact. I-** there were a lot of scratch outs, as if the man kept changing his mind on what to write down. **I was foolish, Dragonborn. So wrapped up was I with the change in the tides your joining my side during the war that I didn't realize I was neglecting other people- people who meant as much to me as winning the war. No, that's a lie- they mean more to me than that. But that negligence has cost me someone I never wanted to lose.**

 **Sometime after when you saw Freyja talking to Galmar last night, she...left, without a word of where she was going, only telling him that she would be back in time for my coronation. My Housecarl was rather emphatic in his telling me that it was my fault that she left... In hindsight, this is not far from the truth. I need her found, Gisele. I would search for her myself, but you know Galmar would never allow it. The Stormcloaks across Skyrim could, but between being on the lookout for the remaining Imperial soldiers and her knowing almost all of them, she could easily elude them.**

 **However, though she would recognize you, she would possibly not recognize the members of your Guild. So I ask for your help, not as the Dragonborn, but as the Guild Master of those whose job it is to be overlooked. Find Freyja for me so I can bring her home... I can't do this without her.**

 **-Ulfric Stormcloak**

 **Jarl of Windhelm**

"What an idiot," the Breton mutters under her breath, then aloud goes "At least the fire got lit up under his ass to do something about it. How it took him this long to figure everything out I have no idea. Even the men were wondering why he never made a move on the Commander- not that they'd say anything to his or her face, that is." Calling over her shoulder towards the bedroom, Gisele goes "Best get dressed, Love. We've got work to do."

"I knew it! Damn it straight to Oblivion, Gisele, you only just got home! Can't they bloody wait?"

The woman in question just marches over to the bed and thrusts the parchment in her lover's face. "You read this and you tell me."

Hardened mahogany orbs dart over the words written on the paper, softening the further down they go. A sigh then, "Alright, I concede to your point... but this is a little bit out of our usual job description. Who do you want me to gather up?"

Chestnut brows furrow as the Guild Master wracks her brain, an ivory incisor peeking out to nibble at her lower lip. "We can't run the risk of a screw up, so the newcomers are out. Etienne is still too afraid of the Thalmor picking him up if he strays too far north, even if we were to send him with someone in case. I want Mallory, Bryn, Garthar, Thyrnn and Vipir here in the next ten minutes, or they're all going doing the worst jobs possible for the next year. And bring Tonilia along too- she might be able to get word out to the caravans. As for you," here Gisele turns back around and faces Ralof "You tell Jarl Ulfric we will attempt to find her, but if we do, he better do whatever he can to fix this pile of horker shit he stepped in. If he doesn't, I have a list of people ready to introduce Commander Strong-Heart to, and while he might not be happy with half of the names on it, they sure as hell won't be a wool-headed idiot like he's been."

As the young man heads out the door to head back up to Windhelm, the Breton feels a leather covered arm wrap around her waist. "I'm sorry, Love. I truly am. Had it been in regards to anything else, I'd have made our excuses."

"No you wouldn't have and you know it," the other person teases as a blonde head comes into view. "You might be a thief, but you'd give the shirt off your back if someone needed it."

"You know me too well, Vex. The Commander is a special case though. Ulfric Stormcloak, for all his talk of honor, is still a man, and every man wants to have one thing more any anything else- it just takes time to figure out what that is. It didn't take long to realize that, after being given the report of what happened at each battle, he would ask specifically about Commander Strong-Heart first, then about General Stone-Fist, then the others."

"I take it you said something?"

"Not until last night. Told both the Jarl and his General that if they happened to come across the Commander to tell her I wanted to bring her down to the Rift and Whiterun for some hunting, and not just of the four legged variety." Gisele gestures at the parchment in the infiltrator's hand, saying "And you see the results. Stone-Fist must have had more than a few words with Ulfric in private to get this sort of reaction- my comment alone wouldn't have done all this, the Stormcloak is too stubborn for that."

"Do you think we can find her? I'm sure she didn't become an officer because she had tits and ass or something like that," the Guild Master's Third points out, running her fingers through short straw strands. "Is that why you're sending all men- to try to seduce her into compliance?"

A soft snort escapes the Breton as she moves back into the bedroom to dress. "Far from it- the only two who can seduce worth a damn are Bryn and Del. But if you notice, four of the five are Nords, and we're in the middle of winter. Mallory's there in the case we need to expand our search a little bit, or need to pull in a few favors- never could understand how that man could have his fingers in so many places across Tamriel." Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Gisel gestures towards the door and continues "Go get the boys so that this can hopefully get finished as quickly and peacefully as possible. I hope that Brynjolf and Garthar understand fully that they don't want to cross blades with the Commander. I saw her sparring with the General one afternoon and it made what Bryn and Mercer used to do in the training room look like two young boys playing with wooden swords..."

* * *

A/N: So, Ulfric decides to hire a bunch of sneaks to find what he's lost. But will that be enough, and if any of the thieves in question find Freyja, will they keep their hands- or other body parts for that matter- to themselves? Tune in to find out!

Onward to our next adventure- where in the name of Oblivion did Commander Stone-Heart go?


	4. Chapter 4

As Freyja disembarked from the _Northern Maiden_ after she docked in Raven Rock, the Nord woman could not help but look at the revitalized mining town in awe. She had heard that the architecture of the place had taken on a Dunmeri influence after the eruption of Red Mountain, but to actually see it was something else entirely. The blonde makes her way into the settlement, the sounds of Dark Elf merchants hawking their wares hitting her from all sides, face covered figures in strange armor walking the streets- guards, she assumes, and all the strange smells permeating the air reminded the soldier that she was definitely no longer in Windhelm anymore.

A familiar clang breaks through the calls of stall merchants- the sound of a hammer hitting a blacksmith's anvil- and Freyja couldn't help but allow the slight smile appearing on her normally stoic face. _Chances are, if the smith is worth their salt, they should be able to point me in the right direction. Though...it would be even better if I could just buy what I need from them outright, instead of having to go gallivanting across Solstheim for it._

Following the sound, the soldier finds near the entrance to the docks a bald headed Breton bending over the fire pit, holding the hilt of what seemed to be a longsword in his right hand. As quiet as she tries to be, Freyja figures she must have made some sort of noise as a pair of curious topaz eyes peer up from the forge.

"Glover Mallory's the name," the man goes as his frame straightens, the light from the burning coals casting odd shadows across rugged cheekbones. "If you're looking for a smith, you've found one of the best."

"Is that so? Perhaps at another time you should put your money where your mouth is, Sera?"

"A Nord who will actually utter a word in Dunmeri, I now have heard everything. What's a girl like you doing in a damnable place like this?"

The lithe woman leans against one of the support columns opposite where the blacksmith stood, a honey colored brow arching slightly at his comment. "When you've spent most of your life growing up in Windhelm, you can not help but pick up a few things here or there. I suppose I could ask the same of you- what's a Breton doing in a settlement full of Dark Elves? Surely you could have worked a forge in a Hold on Skyrim?"

"A fine question, and the one I hear the most often from visitors to our town," Glover goes, setting the redhot blade into the the water to cool it. As steam wafts up from the liquid, he continues "I wish I had a more romantic tale to tell, but I was simply seeking my fortune and chose Raven Rock to ply my trade. Besides, knowing how to repair bonemold armor wasn't very useful in Riften."

"Bonemold armor? You mean that strange gear I see some wearing?" A bare hand gestures towards one of people in question as they walk down the street. At the nod, she continues "Who taught you that? Not something most smiths would know."

"I had a friend over there, a dark elf named Vanryth...a very talented armorsmith. Spent a lot of time with the guy swapping smithing techniques. Learned a heck of a lot, including how to repair bonemold." A smile graces the Breton's face at the memory of conversations long since past. "After he moved on to greener pastures, I decided to pack up, move out here and put those lessons to the test. Been here ever since."

"Surely there's someone back in Skyrim who misses you?"

A chuckle escapes the Breton as he pulls the sword from the water, his eyes peering at the steel critically. "Doubtful. I mean, I have a brother, but he's wrapped up in his own things back in Riften. He comes up here periodically to visit and keeps me informed of what is going on. He finds things for people, after a fashion- makes a bit of good coin doing it too. Other than that..." A noncommittal shrug tells the woman he wasn't completely keen on talking about it. "But you're not here to talk about my past. How can my forge be of service?"

"I came across in some reading I did awhile ago that Solstheim is home to a crafting material that was known at one point as enchanted ice," Freyja goes, rubbing at her face tiredly. "I have need of some so that I can forge a few things. I was hoping that you would either have some, or that you would know where I could mine the ore."

"Stalhrim." Glover looks at the woman over the thin edge of the blade, studying her as if she was an ingot to be forged into something useful. "I suppose I could help you, but only if you'd do something for me." He hears a soft sigh over the crackling of the forge and presses slightly. "Look, you need help and so do I, so why not help each other get what we want?"

She sighs softly, but the Nord knew the smith was right. _Besides, Talos only knows how long I'll be here, let alone how long it will take me to find the- what did he call it? Stalhrim?_ "I'm listening."

"Before you came over here, did you happen to meet an old Imperial miner named Crescius Caerellius?"

"You're the first person I've spoken to since I disembarked from the _Northern Maiden._ Why are you looking for him?"

A livid expression appeared on the Breton's face, one that looked more at home at an angry Galmar than on the man before her, as he goes "That foolish old man's taken my pickaxe again!"

"You're...angry over...a simple pickaxe?" Blonde brows furrow in confusion as the woman continues "You're a blacksmith, you can simply make your own, can't you?"

"No, no, no!" Calloused hands wave wildly as Glover cuts Freyja off before she could say anything more. "This isn't just your run-of-the-mill pickaxe. I'm talking about an Ancient Nord Pickaxe. They don't exactly grow on trees, you know."

"What's so special about an Ancient Nord Pickaxe?"

"It's the only tool tough enough to crack Stalhrim, is what it is. That's what you'll need if you want to get the ore to craft whatever it is you plan on making. Not many of those beauties left in the world- forging them is a lost art. The one Crescius "borrowed" came from the Skaal Village up north. I, uh, traded them some goods for it. If you're looking to learn more about Stalhrim though, you should head to the village I mentioned- someone there is bound to know more about it than I do."

"Traded. Sure, let's say I believe that. How do I know you'll keep to your end of the bargain and help me?"

Glover gives Freyja a knowing smirk. "You don't, but that's the fun, isn't it- wondering if the gamble will pay off? Besides, it's not like you're doing anything else now, is there?"

The Breton had her there and they both knew it. She huffs softly, the nods her acquiescence. "Fine. Where can I find this Crescius person?"

"Try the mines- he seems to believe that the East Empire company lied about the death of some family member of his. The insane Imperial just doesn't know how to let the past stay where it belongs."

* * *

"Come to make fun of an old man and his ramblings, have you?"

Mercurial eyes blink at the accusation and all Freyja can do is shake her head. "I'm afraid not. I'm looking for a Crescius Caerellius."

A dry hand reaches up to stroke at a gray moustache as if in thought. "You've found him, Lass. How can I help you?"

"I heard you have an Ancient Nord Pickaxe in your possession... I was hoping to acquire it from you."

"Did Glover Mallory put you up to this?" The older male scowls, slamming a slightly arthritic hand against the table before him. "That damned fool doesn't even deserve it! The pickaxe was made for mining, not for selling. I bet he stole it from the Skaal in the first place."

"The blacksmith is the one who told me yes, but it's because I'm in search of Stalhrim and he said it's the only thing capable of mining it."

Crescius nods "That it is. But why would a young woman like you have need of enchanted ice anyway? You look like you'd be more at home behind a book than wielding a sword."

Orbs once a glittering silver, now blacker than a starless night, narrow in anger. "Perhaps you should not judge that which you do know or understand." Before the man could say another word, her long fingers grab at the hem of her blue tunic and lifts it just below her breastband, revealing numerous scars decorating a toned torso. "Would you say that I don't know my way around a battlefield and weapons? I've killed my home's foes, I've killed people I once called brother. I've taken blows meant for loved ones, spilled my own blood for strangers. I know plenty about wielding a sword, Imperial. Can you honestly say the same?" Lowering the material down once more, Freyja adds "And in answer to your question, I wish to craft a few things from it to give as gifts. Not to sell, not to make things and sell for profit. Some things...some things you just can't put a price on."

Brown eyes soften slightly and the miner nods. "Alright," he says quietly as the elder moves towards a drawer and, after opening it, pulls the item in question out. The man walks back towards the soldier and holds the pickaxe out, saying "Normally when Mallory is involved, there's some sort of scam hiding in the background... But your story is almost too good, and scars as old as some of those can't be faked. But know this, if you do decide to give it to him, tell the bastard I hope he drops the bloody thing on his foot."

* * *

As the blonde makes her way back to the forge, Freyja cannot help but feel slightly guilty at the half-truth she told the elderly miner. While it was true that yes she needed the tool in order to mine the Stalhrim, the only way she would able to be able to mine the stuff is if the Breton blacksmith allowed her to borrow it until her ideas came to fruition. _Which means more negotiations, and I can only imagine what he would want in exchange._

"Find my pickaxe yet?"

Long fingers reach into a sack and pull the tool out by the handle. Holding out to the broad male, she goes simply "I have your Ancient Nordic Pickaxe."

A wide grin breaks out on the bald man's face. "So you finally tracked down old Crescius, eh? Quite a character, isn't he." Glover reaches up and rubs at his scruff lined chin thoughtfully, then goes, "Tell you what. Since you went through all the trouble of finding it for me and all, you keep it."

"Not that I'm grateful, but...after all that? Why?"

"I just wanted to remind that codger you can't just go around taking things from other people. Now that you've delivered the message, I'm satisfied. Besides, that pickaxe hasn't done me any good in years, and you need it more than I do right now.. Maybe you can put it to good use." Before the woman could say anything, he cuts her off. "There is...one other thing you could do for me."

 _I knew it._ The Nord slowly puts the item back into her pack, her steely gaze never leaving amused hazel. "And _what_ exactly would that be, Glover Mallory?"

"So distrusting, aren't you Lass," the blacksmith goes, stepping in front of her with his arms crossed. "I just figured if you're going to be spending time here in Raven Rock, and possibly using my forge, you could give me your name. Beats me calling you things like Lass, wench, woman and the like."

 _By the Nine, I didn't think that far. I was planning an in and out, not something that would be more than a day or two._ Before she could think any further, Freyja says the first thing that comes into her head. "Skadi. You can call me Skadi."

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry I haven't been around. We had a little bit of an RL situation at home that is slowly starting to remedy itself, so hopefully I can get back to writing sooner than I anticipated.

I always did wonder why Glover never had more of an involvement in things, even all the way up in Solstheim. Sure, there's getting the pickaxe back, and the bonemold formula, then Sapphire, but other than that, there's nothing. And why does Delvin give you jobs to steal from his own kin? I personally would have loved a small TG quest line where you can set up an Auxiliary guildhall somewhere in Solstheim...but that's just me and my not liking all the loose ends Skyrim has to offer.

Oh well, off to see if I can pull a few more updates out of my hat before I go to bed. Feel free to leave any comments or questions, even if it's to tell me I suck- but just tell me why I do!


	5. Chapter 5

It had been two weeks since Freyja left Windhelm, and while yes, she did miss everyone back home (some more than others), the woman knows that the journey and lessons learned have been worth it so far. She found that Solstheim grew on her slightly, but maybe that was because of the fact she could take the time and think on what she wanted, plus work on her smithing skills. Glover, despite his rather amusing attempts to get her into bed with him, continued to be a very big help on improving the Nord's knowledge.

Unfortunately, the blonde couldn't keep the Breton pinned down forever, and he left two days prior to go off to Talos knows where- possibly to the Skaal village, or that group living in Frostmoon Crag- leaving her to her own devices and to tend to his forge and shop while he was away. While it was interesting to see a different side of life, having spent most of her own training and fighting, the soldier knew such an... _idyllic_ lifestyle was not for her. Little did Freyja know, the peace and quiet she had was going to disappear, and rather soon... Like now.

"You're not Glover... Unless he's gone and angered a Daedric Prince somehow..."

Metallic spheres glance up from the worktable, a wry smirk gracing the woman's face. "It's possible, but you'll never know, will you?" She laughs at the rather incredulous look on the newcomer's face, then decides to pity him. "No, I'm not Glover- he had some business to tend to outside of the settlement, for some reason trusted me enough to tend the forge and handle any business until he came back." Freyja puts the hammer down and gives the black leathered garbed male a look over as he leans against a support column. "You must be the brother he mentioned a few times- the one from Riften. Delvin, was it? The name's Skadi." The lie, she realized, became easier to tell the more times she told it.

"A pleasure. You should be honored- Glover doesn't usually have confidence in anyone to leave them alone at his forge for a day, let alone a week." An exact replica of the blacksmith's smile appears on his features and she knew she had it right. "Nice to know he hasn't completely forgotten his family altogether since coming here. Do you have any idea of when he will be back?"

A flaxen haired head shakes in the negative, flecks of ash flying off the tightly bound strands. "He left two days ago, so I'm _hoping_ by the end of the week. Any longer, and by the Nine I'll go looking for the bastard myself. I only came here for the Stalhrim and the forge, not to apprentice in shop keeping." Feeling a second pair of eyes on her, she glances to her right over towards the Ienth's farm where Garyn was tending to his ash-grown crops. Though the woman couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, Freyja could not shake the feeling of being watched.

"Is there a problem?" the Breton goes, his voice betraying his curiosity- _And was that just a hint of fear I heard as well?_ Delvin watches as silver orbs slowly move forward, her attentions back on him.

"No, just an odd sensation. I suppose you can take the soldier out of the war, but can never take the war out of the solder. There are too many memories and habits to let go of cleanly, I'm afraid." The blonde Nord gives him a slight smile and continues "Will you be staying in Raven Rock until you see your brother? Or will you be returning to Riften and your... _acquisition business_?"

 _Oh I like you._ "I'm waiting on a friend to join me. For some reason I don't understand, he only trusts my brother to mend his gear."

"Why doesn't this make sense to you?"

"He and I both have access to two of the best smiths in Skyrim- one of them being Glover's mentor." Mallory goes silent for a moment, lost in thought, then adds "Perhaps if you are still disposed to learn more on forging when we leave, you'll consider a visit to Riften. Who knows, maybe you'll want to try your hand at what I do. Pays good money, and there's never a dull moment- much like the battlefield."

"I think this is a first- a job offer from someone I've only spoken to for five minutes or so. Did your brother know you were on your way here? If not, then this is a chance arrangement and meeting, wouldn't you agree?"

The man just chuckles, and reaches out to take Freyja's hand in his. "Just think on it. Excitement is a drug, and people whose lives are filled with violence are always wondering where the next fix is coming from... Perhaps you need a different sort of excitement to get addicted too, hmm? Our sort of rush might just be to your liking." As he releases his hold on her, Delvin adds as an afterthought "My friend and I will be staying during our time here over at Severin Manor- a colleague of ours happens to own it and offered it to us while in Raven Rock. Dinner, say seven?"

Before she could respond, the bald Breton was off and moving towards the Winking Skeever. _Possibly to see if the person he was waiting for arrived,_ the woman thinks to herself as she turns back towards the workbench. _Galmar would be laughing hysterically at this predicament if he were here now. But...perhaps it's the sort of distraction I need to stop dwelling on..._ "This chest piece won't get done if you keep letting yourself get distracted, Strong-Heart," Freyja mutters, grasping at the tool once more, each hit lessening the sad emotions caused by things that would never be.

* * *

"Who was that at Glover's forge? You seemed rather cozy with her there at the end."

"Seems my brother has taken on a protégée of sorts," Delvin goes, coming to a stop next to a broad, auburn haired male. "But there's more to her than a love of forging I think."

Brynjolf glances at the Sneak Trainer, then back towards the woman in question. "She's definitely a looker, I'll say that much. Wouldn't mind a tumble with her beneath some furs before we leave."

"Skadi knew you were watching us...well, knew someone was keeping an eye on us. I'm not sure how you managed to avoid being seen, but I'm not asking again. When I asked about her suspicions, however, she just claimed it was old habits dying hard. The lady, it appears, is a soldier on leave."

The Nord's brows furrow in thought. "Could she be the Lass Gisele had asked some of us to find for the Stormcloak?"

"Possibly," Mallory goes, his topaz eyes not straying from the workbench or the woman hammering away at some oddly colored gear. "But unless we have definite information, one cannot be sure. I certainly won't waste the Guild Master's time sending a letter with things that are false. We'll just have to watch, wait... and pray that Nocturnal gives us enough patience and luck to figure it out. Though, we might be able to start tonight- I invited her for dinner around seven." He looks at his friend and adds, "Now that I think of it, if she does happen to be the one we're looking for... Don't try to bed her, Bryn."

"What sort of man do you take me for Del?" The Second tries to put an affronted look on his face and fails miserably. The two start to laugh- yes, the Breton knew the other man all too well. It was no secret within the Guild that Brynjolf had a habit of sweet talking women to sleep with him.

Delvin snorts softly after the pair collect themselves, then goes "I will admit though, I certainly hope Skadi's not the one we need to find. Say that to the Boss though and I'll deny it."

"Why not? It isn't every day we have a Jarl indebted to us." When a sheepish expression appears on his colleague's face, emerald orbs widen just a touch. "What did you do Delvin?"

"I...might have told her to consider finding us down in Riften if the boredom got to her..."

* * *

A/N: Leave it to Brynjolf to think with the wrong head first, and Delvin to think of the coffers.

Alright, first things first. "Excitement is a drug, and people whose lives are filled with violence are always wondering where the next fix is coming from" is a quote by Maya Angelou. I thought it was rather fitting considering Freyja, who spent practically her entire life as a solider, is starting to feel a bit restless with the temporary peace. What does a warrior, who knows nothing else, do with themselves?

Regarding the name Freyja chooses to go by while on Solstheim: Skadi, a giantess and goddess in Norse mythology, is said to live in the highest reaches of the mountains where the snow never melts. Now, granted, there are other places in Skyrim where she could hail from (Dawnstar and Winterhold), Windhelm is claimed to be the snowiest city in the province. So I thought it rather...fitting, in a way.

Upcoming plans for this story: What can two thieves and a soldier talk about over dinner? Will Bryn keep his hands to himself? What is Ulfric doing during all this (besides kicking himself on the ass)? I don't even know yet myself. Let's find out together!


	6. Chapter 6

_**Why are you doing this, Strong-Heart? You're only here to forge the items you need and to go back home...**_

 _Home. Home to what? A man who barely notices me and a never ending war with an enemy that will never be satisfied until all of Skyrim bends the knee and her King dead_. Freyja sighs as she argues with her conscience, long fingers deftly braiding her hair. _And that's why I'll go back- to defend my home from a foe that will never yield, to honor the oaths I swore, to keep promises made. I told Ulfric I would be by his side until one of us were called home to Sovngarde and I'll stick to that promise... no matter how much it hurts._

 _ **Still doesn't mean you have to break bread with two members of the Thieves Guild. Seriously, did Glover really think you wouldn't put it together when he said that his brother finds things for people and that he lives in Riften?**_

 _So what exactly do you want me to do?_ The blonde tugs on her boots, tugging the leather over brown linen material. _Stay in my room here in the Netch all the time when I'm not working? I'll go madder than I already am, thank you very much. I need some interaction with others, even if they happen to be thieves._

As she reaches down to pick up her sword, Freyja's conscience snarks _**If it's just interacting, why do you have need of that?**_

 _Because a thief is still a thief, regardless of how great a conversationalist they are. Now, do you have any other complaints before I walk out this door?_ The Nord hears nothing but silence. _Good. For once, I want to be normal- not have conversation revolve around battles and events of the past, but of things I know nothing about. There's more to life than just the battlefield...maybe it's high time I experience it while I can._ Freyja steps out into the taproom of the Retching Netch and greets the owner, Geldis Sadri.

"Good evening, Skadi. Can I interest you in some dinner tonight? Or perhaps are you heading out for some hunting?" the Dunmer asks, gesturing to the weapon at her side.

"I've been actually invited to join Glover Mallory's brother and a friend of his for dinner tonight. Seems said friend only trusts Raven Rock's blacksmith to repair his gear, but since Glover is out of town for a few more days, they've decided to wait for him."

"Perhaps he'll let you handle it instead, you're nearly as good as Mallory is- I'm sure you'd be more than capable."

She shakes her head at the Dark Elf behind the counter. "Some people are a bit... choosy about these sort of things, Geldis. I'll not force the issue."

The Dunmer shrugs at the comment- in his eyes, a blacksmith was a blacksmith. If something needed fixing, in the end who cares who did it? "Where are they staying?"

"Severin Manor. Delvin said something about a colleague of his owning the home and offering it to him and the friend while they were in Raven Rock. Happen to know where it is?"

"Course, it's just past the Ienth's Farm, can't miss it."

"My thanks, Geldis. I'll be back later...hopefully." The Nord leaves the building to the proprietor's laughter following her up the stairs and out the door.

Freyja makes her way towards the now quiet forge, pausing a few moments to exchange pleasantries with Councilor Arano and his wife, Cindiri. However, as she continues on in the direction Geldis told her to go, the warrior again feels like she is being watched and punctuality be damned, the blonde was going to figure out who or what was doing the observing.

This time her search was not futile, Strong-Heart's mercurial gaze landing on an auburn haired Nord leaning against one of the outer walls of Raven Rock's abandoned building. _Must be the one Delvin was waiting on to join him, if the black leathers he's wearing are any indication,_ Freyja thinks as his jade orbs lock with hers across the settlement's main street.

 _Well now, let us see what both Mallorys see in you Lass,_ Brynjolf tells himself as he pushes off the stone and makes his way over to the blonde. "Seems to me you're a long way from home, Lass."

"Perhaps one could say Eastmarch is far from Solstheim," the Nord woman quips, a honey colored eyebrow raising just a touch. "Though, if you consider _that_ a long way from home, I wonder what you would call the distance you traveled here from The Rift."

"Well, if find that it all depends on what I find at the end of the journey, whether it's coming here to Raven Rock or just heading over to Falkreath or Shor's Stone."

"And what exactly are you hoping to find and bring back that will benefit your Guild?"

A predatory smirk flashes across Brynjolf's face, there and gone in an instant. _Oh yes, now I see._ "Well, unfortunately for me, Delvin beat me to it when he extended you an invitation to Riften earlier. But where are my manners?" An armored arm crosses his midsection and the male bows slightly. "The name is Brynjolf, and you must be Skadi. I heard Glover left you in charge of his forge for a few days."

"A few days too many, I think. I only came to Solstheim to find and craft some items from Stalhrim and learn a few more smithing techniques." Freyja throws her braid over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off the man in front of her. "Running a shop, on the other hand, was not in the original plan. Though, I will admit, it has allowed me to experience some things that I might not have with my current line of work."

"I think you've done rather well adapting to the unexpected change in plans, at least from what the townspeople are saying." A thoughtful expression appears on the ginger's face as he rubs at his scruff-lined chin. "Perhaps we could put those smithing skills of yours to the test Lass."

The thief watches as a glint appears in the woman's icy eyes at the challenge. Instead of jumping at the bait he temptingly dangled in front of her, however, she just goes "I have it on rather good authority that despite having access to some of the best smiths Skyrim has to offer, you come all the way up here to Raven Rock and Glover Mallory. Why is that, and if he's been doing your repairs for so long, why change?"

Brynjolf chuckles as he gently takes Freyja's arm and tucks it around his- strictly to be a gentleman, mind you- and starts to lead the slightly shorter woman towards Severin Manor. "In my line of work, it is very difficult to trust anyone, but Delvin, Glover and I grew up in Honorhall Orphanage, so that makes them practically family.

Honorhall Orphanage. The officer had heard horror stories from soldiers who had once called the place home, what it was like in the care of its former Mistress, Grelod the Kind. "Loyalty of that nature should not be thrown away so easily."

 _ **And yet, here you are, running instead of facing the problems head on. Perhaps you should practice what you preach, Strong-Heart.**_

 _Hush you._

"And it's not, Lass. But as you pointed out- it's a rather long way from here to Riften after all. Perhaps if I found a suitable replacement that was... a bit more well-rounded... and closer to home..." His emerald eyes move from Freyja's face downward, glancing appreciatively at what he would definitely call well-rounded. "Shame you're expected for dinner- I wouldn't mind getting to know you in a more private setting."

Had her heart and brain not been at odds with each other the Nord woman possibly would have found herself agreeing with the rather confident redhead. "That line might work for most of the women you talk to," Freyja goes to Brynjolf as she frees her arm from his, "But it takes a bit more than some honeyed words to even get me to consider that. Besides, even if I wasn't..."

"Wasn't what, Lass? Married? Not like that has stopped me before." The thief winks at her, the smirk never leaving his face as he continues with "Besides, I'm sure I can give you some sort of sustenance if you get hungry."

 _And this is where you lose my attention. Is this what my life is going to be like from now on- anyone showing interest in me is really just wanting to get me under some furs?_ Like all words, once you say them, they can not be taken back. The man watches as the blonde takes a small step away from him, and, mumbling her excuses, turns and heads towards the way to Solstheim proper- clear on the other side of the settlement.

Mentally, the male shrugs, not realizing that he really shoved his foot in his mouth with that comment, then continues on his way back towards Gisele's home. _I'm glad the Guild Master lent us this place. Last time I slept at the Retching Netch, I ended up drinking too much shien and discovered I passed out before the Shrine to Mephala...and rather naked. Never did find out what happened to the clothes I had on._

When the Nord walks through the door of Severin Manor, he's greeted by a rather confused Sneak Trainer. "Bryn, where's Skadi? You were supposed to bring her here to join us for dinner."

"I don't know. We were nearly here when she just made her excuses and left the settlement. It couldn't have been anything I said- I was my normal charming self!"

An exasperated sigh escapes Delvin as he walks over towards the ginger and smacks him on the back of the head. "Idiot. Your normal charming self tends to involve you charming some woman and convincing them to crawl into bed with you."

"I don't..." Auburn brows furrow in thought, Brynjolf's mind replaying the scene outside with the blonde woman.

 _ **Does the words 'Married? Not like that has stopped me before' ring any bells? Or even better 'I'm sure I can give you some sort of sustenance if you get hungry'?**_

 _I didn't mean it that way..._

 _ **Didn't you?**_ The younger man's conscience snarks at him, then adds _**When was the last time you saw a woman as just that and not as a bedwarmer, not someone whose bed you'd sneak out of while she was asleep?**_

"I suppose you're right, Del. It's a habit, I guess."

"Habits are made to be broken," the Breton goes as he starts pushing the other thief back out the door. "Now, you're going to go out there and see if you can find her. I didn't spend the last two hours cooking just so that you can scare off our guest."

"I still can't believe you know your way around a kitchen, let alone can cook."

"There's a lot of things you don't know or never realized, Bryn. Now get out there and find her, hopefully she hasn't gone far."

Brynjolf snorts as he starts heading away from the home. "I'm a thief, it's my job to find things." The response he gets is only laughter, the loud sound following him down the road. _We'll see who is laughing when I bring the Lass back with not a scratch on either of us..._

* * *

A/N Poor Bryn. No one seems to understand that he doesn't have to do a damned thing to convince the women of Skyrim to crawl into bed with him.

I'm kicking myself- I didn't think when I started writing The Soldier and The Thief that I'd have a hard time keeping the two works separate. It's more that I know where this story (Only Thing) had to go and what needs to happen, but I have to keep figuring how can it work with the other story. Sigh. I'm hopeless lol.

Anyways, so here's what is coming down the pike: Can Brynjolf make amends for his rather one track mind? Is Ulfric sitting idle? Does Del walk in on Gisele and Vex- hmm, that's an idea, but that might make his head explode? Maybe that can be a side one shot of sorts. We'll see. I have so many other things neglected...

Thanks for reading!


End file.
